Mike (a.k.a. Jersey boy) is at my house today and is busy assessing all the handyman projects he can help me with. Goodness gracious, who knew handy could be so sexy?
It is amazing the things that change as you age. In the beginning (not of mankind – in the beginning of my recognition that boys were a lifeform worth noting – which was, for the record, a significant amount of time after the creation of mankind)…ahh, but I digressed in parenthesis format and lost my way – so typical.
As I was saying, in the beginning I thought other things were sexy. It started off with features such as nice eyes, a dimpled chin or a captivating smile. As I got older my definition of sexy broadened to encompass an appreciation of body fitness – things such as nice upper body development, defined abs and sculpted calves. Later I became acutely aware of the sexiness that confidence held and came to value that highly. But today as my boyfriend is talking about all the fix-it and remodeling projects he can do around the house I find myself defining sexy in a whole new way…in a way that really values handiness.
It’s not that I suddenly go wild when I see a man with a toolbox and tape measure. Heaven knows there have been plenty of men like that around here this past year. It is something more primal and basic – something that is more about the caretaking piece of the equation. The fact that Mike wants to come over here and help take care of things that I cannot – the fact that he wants to take care of me. Yes, indeed – that carries some crazy sex appeal for a single girl in the new forty who is decidely un-handy (my toolbox go-tos are duct tape and super glue) and who has spent most of her life taking care of herself.
So today I add handy to my list of items that are sexy. Heaven help me if my handy boyfriend decides to do all that fix-it work with his shirt off – I may just faint outright from the excitement of it all.
Day seven hundred and eighty-one of the new forty – obla di obla da